


The Ruin of Ronald Weasley

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divination, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Skull Fucking, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoping to avoid asking for more help from his already too generous friends, Ron finds himself at the mercy of a stranger on the internet.  Someone who turns out to not be a stranger at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aminayuy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminayuy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [At Your Discretion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331110) by [draelynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draelynn/pseuds/draelynn). 



> Based loosely on an actual craigslist ad from 2011. Inspired heavily by this fanfic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5331110

_I am a male model who has done a lot of work around the world and in NYC. I recently graduated college with a degree in finance, I have great stats (3.9 GPA) from a semi-target and decent work history. I am looking to break into IB as an analyst. I am looking for an MD or at least a VP from a BB or boutique bank in the city. I will be willing to relocate within the US and Asia (beggars can't be choosers). You should be able to get my resume through to HR and secure me at least an initial phone interview._

_What I can do for you:_

_I can pretty much do whatever you would like. I am straight but will be enthusiastic in our encounter. I am versatile and am willing to play out a fantasy if you wish. This would be a one time deal unless you are a major player at an elite boutique or bulge bracket and really help me out, then we can do this a few more times if you wish. Complete and utter discretion is a must and you will need to verify who you are later down the road._

_If you have any more questions feel free to email me._

* * *

Though guilty.  Though alone.  Though of no use to anyone.

He'd be safe, here.  An ocean away from those that knew him and reaching out on a muggle platform, no less.  Some non-magical, old fart with too much money and not enough scruples would make him cringe a little, screw up his ability to walk comfortably for a day or two, and he'd finally be able to send money back to his family.  

No more roof repairs and plumber visits funded by the Potter estate.  No more "Oh, I just so happened to buy a little extra" grocery deliveries from Hermione.  No more "Nargles sell well in Knockturn Alley and your garden is full of them" advice from Luna.

No more apologies from his dad for losing his job.

He'd keep renting the cramped, closet-sized bedroom in his shared, New York City apartment and sending almost his entire paycheck across the pond.  He'd sacrifice and suffer, like his dad always had, for the good of those he loved.  

He'd pay Harry back.  

If he could finally manage to chase Viktor off, for good, he'd propose to Hermione and actually build a good life for her.  

Sometimes, Ron lived in a fantasy world where Hermione was repeatedly turning down proposals from Viktor Krum because she was waiting on him, instead.  In reality, she'd only told the Bulgarian seeker that she wanted to finish her entire education before any nuptials.  It was only Ron's dumb luck she wanted the highest credentials in both the muggle world and the wizarding one.  Without a time-turner, Hermione was still powering through both at a human pace.

Ron's name, Weasley, would do him no good in London. His poorly-tailored clothing matched with an obviously cheap wand branded him a beggar among wizards on any continent.  Ron felt he'd had no choice but to run toward muggle life the moment he finished at Hogwarts.  He had Harry and Hermione's advice to keep him out of trouble and a chance to start fresh.  Cheaply manufactured clothes at reasonable prices and a pass for public transit meant nobody ever had to know how much he struggled.  

Never had the chance to judge him before he spoke.

That was important to him because when he spoke, out came his confidence.  Hard won, growing up in the shadow of Harry and Hermione. Out came his intelligence.  Always there, but refined by the university he'd earned full scholarships to attend.  Out came his charm.  The kind that every Weasley child seemed to ooze.  A result of their father's curiosity and thirst for life blending with their mother's leadership and caring soul.

But muggles, like wizards, were only human.  They still wanted to help their under-qualified family and friends find jobs.  Still turned him away despite how hard he'd worked on his education and physical appeal.  Despite how long he'd starved to be able to afford his only designer suit.  Despite his phenomenal references from growing the fortunes of Harry Potter, Sirius Black, and some of the other noble houses of Europe.  

Ron had instinct.  HIs mother called it divination, but it was never so clear as a vision.  He just knew what to invest where.  What would pay off soonest or largest.  There were investments made for Harry that would likely take generations to bear fruit.  

Still. Somehow.

Ron just knew.

His connections had gotten him gigs.  Never a job big enough to pull his family out of the perpetual quicksand of generations of poverty.  He'd heard his brothers mourn to their wives that perhaps they'd had children too soon.  He'd heard Ginny turn down Harry's offers to build her parents a new home.  He'd had to turn down Harry's offer to permanently hire him as a bookkeeper, himself.  It wasn't Harry's job to save his family.  Nor was it a mistake to bring his lovely nieces and nephews into the world.

Ron still believed he could become everything he'd hoped to be.  An upstanding wizard.  Not a man hiding his wand from view while pushing papers in Muggle New York.  Not a part-time underwear model.  He knew he could be a good son. A good brother. Uncle. Husband. Father.

At any cost.

So, with a sinking feeling in his gut, Ron gathered up the faceless underwear ads he'd posed for only a few months ago, took another thick gulp from the cheap whiskey on his desk, and wrote the online ad that would forever change his life.

* * *

 

There was no need, in America, to hide his proclivities.  His father wanted an heir but after all Draco had been through in his last years of school, neither parent wanted to push him too hard. 

Their only request had been that he be discreet and only bed men far away from their social circles and his work.  Considering how difficult that arrangement could have been, it seemed that dumb luck favored Draco, as well.

A disowned squib from his father's side of the family passed away right as Draco graduated from Hogwarts.  While wizard law may have honored their cousin's hatred of the Malfoys, the Muggle business he dealt with only sought out his next of kin & passed over his assets to a disinterested Lucius Malfoy. 

One such asset was a finance company none of them had any idea how to run but served as a great excuse for Draco to leave home & sow whatever wild oats he chose.  Lucius practically pushed him out of the house.  Too good of a father to admit he was ashamed but not a good enough one to respect him unconditionally.  Only Narcissa had the presence of mind to recommend Draco study & train to run the muggle company in earnest.  

"The Malfoy name means very little after your father's... social hiccups," she'd put it lightly on the day Draco left.  "Perhaps a life outside of magic will afford you more freedom to make the right kinds of friends."

He'd watched as his father glared over at his mother with obvious effort put into keeping his mouth shut.  There was a tension between his parents that he hadn't wanted to leave them alone, with.  He was not foolish enough to think his presence could prevent them from splitting but often wondered if perhaps his success would relieve them both.  His father could have a son he could brag about instead of some brat coasting by on a still sizable fortune and two ancient, though tarnished names.  His mother might also stop blaming his father for ruining their lives if Draco could at least manage to dust off some of the social stigma that clung to them.

So, for the better part of a decade, Draco's life had been eaten up by meetings, workshops, and school.  He'd become quite competent & even the board supported most of his decisions once he started making them.  In fact, if their words were to be trusted, he took to the job with far more zeal than his deceased cousin.  They respected him and he realized he'd never had a single person's respect prior to working there.

Muggles weren't so bad.

Just... unintentionally inefficient.  Poor things.  

Oh, but the things they did to compensate for their lack of magical ability were absolutely phenomenal!  Draco never stopped feeling impressed by what they could do with their computers.  He never stopped marveling over their fantastic toys.  In fact, when he'd been new to posing as a muggle, being a billionaire had many perks.  Whenever he got caught using magic, he could shrug to the awestruck witness and say one simple sentence that left them feeling comfortable and understanding instead of confused and afraid.  "Oh, it's this new gadget I'm testing for a friend." 

With a wave of his phone, he could get away with all kinds of mischief in the office and beyond. Not that he'd been foolish enough to try that, too often.

Some things, however, he didn't need magic for.  Finding partners, impossible via any magic but the dangerous and dark kind, was only a smartphone tap, away.  There were apps for hookups, but he never wanted to risk creating a detailed profile and one that allowed him any anonymity wouldn't attract a man.  People wanted photos, witty remarks, and other such good marketing.  Draco didn't understand the need for what was essentially a resume for one's dick.  He'd found most of his kicks on Craigslist.  Simple. Discreet. Relatively untraceable.  

Yet, he smiled at the ad he was looking at over his morning coffee. The previous night's conquest padded through his hotel suite in a silk dressing gown like he owned the place.  Draco ignored him in favor of his laptop.  This ad was not another vapid go-go dancer that dreamed of being discovered and hoisted onto a Broadway stage.  Not another money-struck romantic that said they wanted cock but always tried to move in after a blowjob and a quick fuck.  

A straight guy.  A man in his industry.  Someone he could maybe use for both business and pleasure.  He'd been overly creative in his handling of the business from day one.  Ideas even the lowliest employee shot up to him were deeply considered and brought before the board.  Ideas his cousin had never let the board experiment with were gleefully executed.  The company's growth since Draco's sudden and originally unwelcome ascension to the 'throne' had been exponential.  He was always hoping to find new people and new ways to accommodate his clients' needs.

Why not a man desperate and creative enough to offer up his body, online, for an interview?

Sure, it broke his mother's rule about keeping his love life away from his work.  Sure, it was definitely going to get very personal, very fast.  Sure, there was no chance of remaining anonymous with this man.

And yet, Draco wanted to see what would happen if he replied.

 

* * *

 

Ron paid an obscene amount of money for unlimited searches on a website where he could learn about every email address he received contact from. After all, he could just cancel the subscription once he found someone.  Most of them turned up disappointing results.  Facebook profiles.  Lists of customers from hacked dating sites.  Wedding registries. Playlists from streaming websites.  Sprawling collections of their interests and hobbies.  Promises of discretion were hard to believe coming from men like them.

Sadly, Ron realized, two of them had not at all exaggerated their careers.  If he could manage to trust either one with his future and reputation, he'd be well on his way to a shiny new job.

And yet...

Sam, a fellow with salt & pepper whiskers and eyes the murky brown of potholes after rainstorms, had just married a new wife.  Twenty-seven years younger than him and, if her picture was any indication, miserable.  Her gaze seemed empty and lost.  Nothing like the smart and sharp stare of Hermione Granger when she knew she looked her best and was documenting it for eternity.  Come to think of it, Sam didn't look all that bright.  Considering his job, there was no way the man was an idiot.  And yet... he seemed rather dull.  

As did Dick.  The only VP that had contacted him and a man that seemed to have no real hobbies.  His photo-roll was a collection of varied apparatus for varied activities. He seemed to flit from distraction to distraction, never sticking to anything for long.  He was obviously looking for something and would probably hope to find it somewhere up Ron's ass. A sense of completion?  A feeling of finally finding home, but only for a few hours?  Another man that would have nothing to show Ron that he hadn't already seen.  A man that couldn't relate if he wanted to.  A man that was decades older than Ron but filled up with superficial experiences that took him to every corner of the globe but never out of his comfort zone.

Ron could do unscrupulous, in fact he counted on it.  He might even be able to do married and disloyal.  He couldn't make himself do dull.  Not after a lifetime of friendship with Hermione and Harry.  Not even for a night.

Perhaps, if he just stumbled into a room not knowing what lie ahead, he could at least forgive himself for being ignorant.  Choosing Dick or Sam meant knowingly marching toward the temporary death of his already ailing spirit.  Needing a stiff drink after a long night and living with weeks of "Merlin's balls, I fucking knew better" echoing through his brain.

 

* * *

 

Until the moment he was on the most opulent elevator he'd ever ridden in his life, Ron figured it made sense to show up in his suit and toting a briefcase.  He'd brought several copies of his resume and a requested collection of unpublished prints from his modeling gigs.  Via email, he'd only shared photos of his body and made arrangements for their meeting.  Ron's prospect had been pleased and eager for more.  Hadn't commented on the deep welts along Ron's arms that some photographers used computers to erase but most did not.  Usually, only the photos chosen for actual ads were edited so thoroughly.

The man had asked for glossy prints, unlike literally everyone else Ron had interacted with since moving to New York.  On the one hand, digital information was easy to hack, so it made sense for a reclusive billionaire to keep his private interests offline.  On the other hand, the request gave Ron some hint into the man's home life.  If he wanted sizable, glossy prints of another man's nearly naked body, it wasn't likely that there were children around or even a snooping wife.

An old widower with out-of-the-nest offspring?  Or someone like Ron.  Just lonely because the world was cruel.  Ron didn't know if he pitied the man, or not.  His email had brought up literally no search results and attempting to find out more about him via his company had been fruitless.  In fact, all Ron knew is that the previous owner had died a year prior to the current owner taking over.

Because that's what Ron had managed to hook with his ad.  Not a MD.  Not a VP.  But a CEO and Owner.  

He'd never felt so giddy in his life.  If his high-risk gamble was going to pay off, this was honestly a hell of a way for it to do so.  The perfect way to make the dangerous adventure worthwhile.  He didn't care if the man was ninety years old and wanted to hang him upside-down from the ceiling.  This job was as sure as his. 

He'd been instructed that the elevator would take him directly into the penthouse suite.  No need to stand awkwardly in a hallway and knock while hoping nobody saw him.  He'd only said a password at the front desk to gain access.  An interesting word.

"Loyalty."

He wondered if it was a soft reminder of what was expected of him from that moment on.  He could never tell a soul what happened between them.  For his own sake as well as the man that he was there to visit.  He would serve the needs of his prospect's company for years after this one afternoon of serving his prospect's personal needs.  Loyalty to an unseen face.  A face he'd likely not see in person, ever again.  He didn't expect a chance to move up, after all.  The man would uphold his end of the bargain but surely want Ron gone as soon as it was reasonable.  Ron estimated he had a year or two of resume-boosting work before he'd need to start finding a way into another company.  One where he wasn't hiding a dirty secret about the CEO.

Once Ron was standing in the penthouse suite of the city's most obnoxiously costly hotel, he realized how cheesy his suit seemed.  This was, essentially, a date.  Yet, preparing to meet the owner of a boutique firm that had placed 22nd on Tomiyson Reuters's "Ranking List of the Top Deal Advisers of the Year" made it hard for him to think of looking anything other than professional.  It was early on Friday evening, so he only hoped his prospect was just getting in from work and was also wearing business attire.  Not that it would make him look less ridiculous.  His prospect knew his sad little life didn't have him fresh out of the office on a Friday afternoon.  He was just an idiot in a suit.

The elegant foyer spilled straight into an open living room.  The layout was modern with the kitchen and dining spaces in view of the sitting area, but the design was archaic.  Like the elevator, the place was decadent.  Reminiscent of French Rococo.  Gaudy prints on all the fabrics and gilded filigree on every surface.  There were even two, stuffed, albino peacocks flanking the elevator door.  A white, baby grand piano with gold legs seemed to be the focal point of the room.  Even the fridge, which he'd thought was a large cabinet, at first, was a gleaming white fixture with gold details. 

Who the fuck needed a gold-plated ice-maker?

"Hello," Ron said in only a slightly raised voice.  This didn't feel like the kind of place to shout in.  Would his voice somehow mar the beauty of plush, white fur rugs and crystal chandeliers? "Um... I'm here, sir."

He didn't know what name to call out.  The man signed out of each email with what Ron assumed were his initials.  D.M-B.

Tired of waiting and continuing to half-shout polite greetings, Ron finally decided to find the other rooms of the apartment.  Perhaps the man was really ninety years old and couldn't hear him.  He peeked into the nearest room which happened to be a half-bath.  More white.  More gold.  More crystal.  More fur.  He found similar decor in a small office, a bedroom, a full bathroom, another bedroom, several closets, and the pantry of all places. 

Ron began to wonder if he'd made some kind of mistake and kept going over D.M-B.'s instructions as well as his own actions in his head.  His fears were put to rest when he finally found a fiftth bedroom with its golden, double-doors ajar.  From inside, Ron heard soft humming and the shuffling of fabric.

The door made a slight creaking sound as he pushed it open wider and the body inside didn't turn to face him.

There was something both off-putting and intriguing about the slim figure with shoulder-length, blonde hair and a cream-colored suit.  The man didn't seem much taller than Ron and definitely wasn't nearly as filled- out.  In fact, if he hadn't been humming, Ron might have assumed he was a lady.  The man had the same slim & athletic build and neatly arranged hair of the trophy wives he'd seen on profile after profile during his research on potential partners for this particular transaction.

"Glad you finally made it," the voice criticized as he continued doing what Ron realized was undressing.  The slide of a tie through his collar is what Ron had heard from the hall.  The off-putting and intriguing figure had a voice that conjured the same confusion in Ron.  The accent.  Posh and British.  Being a muggle accountant meant that it was entirely unlikely that he knew Ron's family, at all, but he felt nervous in a way he wouldn't have if the man had been American.

"I was on time, I just didn't know if you wanted me to..."

"You're late, sir.  I'm not sure how you could be timid after I invite you over for a fuck and give you my bloody password," the blond interrupted him.

At least he knew how to take charge.  Ron realized it was comforting to know he wouldn't be expected to lead.  After all, he had no idea what he was doing.

"Honestly, I don't care what you do once you're hired, but don't embarrass me by showing up late and then making excuses to your managers," Ron's prospect continued.  The more the man talked, the more frantic Ron felt.  There was something familiar about the way he spit out words.  Cool and calm, yes, but with such sharp vitriol.  He seemed the type that always had a nasty attitude, but that wasn't what got to Ron.  He literally recognized the voice.  His eyes flit over the room for hints of magic.

No floating candles.  No whiffs of rare potions ingredients floating in from the bathroom.  No books that wiggled on the shelf.  Ron forced himself to concentrate on the way magic felt.  The way wards prickled and old spells left warm sparks in the air that couldn't be seen but sometimes tickled the senses.  He closed his eyes.

There.  By the bed.  His eyes flashed open.

Ron took a bolder step into the blindingly bright gold and white room.  Peering around the figure, Ron spotted what he'd dreaded.  Resting underneath a lamp.  A muggle, electric lamp.  No oil or spell.  Right there on the bedside table lay a wand.  Roughly ten inches in length and obviously made of fine hawthorn wood.  A dark handle with an elegant ridge was the object's signature.  The detail that marked it the wand of Draco Malfoy.  Perhaps, Draco Black now that the Malfoys were all but exiled from London's wizarding circles.

His heart sank and he stumbled backwards into the door as he tried to make his escape before Draco could see him.  He would run to the elevator, he thought.  He could run out of the building, he hoped.  He would finish the last drops of his whiskey and mourn for the future he'd pissed on by even showing up here.

Draco turned, then.  His face had been temporarily painted with worry for the man that had tripped and fallen in his doorway.  Ron scuttled backwards on his hands as if facing down a mountain troll.  He assumed that the following sneer came once Draco's realization set in.

"You're... you're kidding," Draco spat.  His full focus and aggravation too much for Ron to stomach.  The redhead closed his eyes and let his head touch the floor.  There was no point in getting up.  Draco would surely grab his wand and hex him into a wall, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy, all fine features and a sheet of perfectly arranged hair, like his father, finally stopped sneering.  Ron watched through one eye as he cringed against whatever attack he'd expected.  He watched as Draco's face changed from outraged to exasperated.  The cream blazer and white shirt suited him.  He looked like a sculpture.  A very annoyed but beautiful sculpture with a loose collar and a few too many buttons undone.  Ron couldn't help but to stare at the bare, milky-white chest that peeked out at him from Draco's clothes.

"What the fuck are you doing prostituting yourself on Craigslist, Weasley?  Does Granger know about this!?" Draco asked, his hands immediately going to his hips and his foot tapping as he waited for an answer.  A very Hermione-like gesture, Ron thought.

At the mention of his lifelong love, Ron attempted to shoot up from the floor with a threat on his lips.  He only managed to scramble around on the smooth surface, repeatedly slipping back into a series of unattractive sprawls.

"Oh, for fucks..." Draco began to grumble as he reached a hand out and helped Ron up.  Without much thought, the blonde straightened Ron's skewed tie and collar.  Well, tried to.  Ron slapped his hands away and drew his wand.

Again, Draco's eyes rolled and he only crossed his arms over his chest.

"The elevator locks from the inside until I lift the wards.  A precaution against robbery," Draco explained.  "If you knock me out, you'll have to wait until I wake to escape."

Ron, looking less sure of himself, slipped his wand back into his suit jacket.  He was confused.  Draco hadn't even lunged for his own wand.  Hadn't summoned it.  Hadn't glanced at it.

"Are you... alright?" Ron asked.

"I'd be more alright if I was actually getting laid, today.  Go to the living room, We can look at your resume, there," the blond instructed.  With a wave of his hand, he was shooing Ronald Weasley away.  Away from the creamy, embroidered tie tossed onto the foot of his bed.  Away from the white, snakeskin shoes at the foot of the bed.  Away from the two glasses of some amber liquid that waited beside the bed.  Away from the single white rose perched on the pillow at the center of the bed.  Ron realized he'd failed his mission before he could even start it.  He wondered if Dick or Sam would still be interested despite his politely emailed "no thank yous."

"But we're supposed to..." Ron began.  His voice quaking more than he wanted it to.  Especially in front of Draco Malfoy.

"Living Room, Mr. Weasley.  Have your papers, ready," he said.  Still spitting words and tapping his foot.

* * *

 

It either took a long time for Draco to join him or every minute passed like several.  In any case, when Draco finally glided into the room, his tie and shoes were back on.  His hair was freshly brushed and gleaming.  His face was professionally blank and there were reading glasses perched on his pointed nose.

Glinting cuff-links and a tie clip caught Ron's eyes.  Blue sapphires if he knew how to spot a jewel.  And gold, too. Plenty of it. Enough fine metal and rock to feed him for months, possibly years.  He wanted to hate Draco for it but couldn't dredge up the resentment.

"Thank you for waiting," Draco said as if Ron were a mere stranger.  "Tea?"

Ron shook his head in a "no" as Draco passed the kitchen.  Draco then unbuttoned his jacket and sat across from the couch his guest was waiting on.  The lavish chair, though it seemed antique, rolled forward at Draco's urging.  Not magic.  Wheels.  He took the resume that Ron had laid out on the coffee table and began reading.  

Ron stared at him.  Merlin's balls, he couldn't help it.  Blush pink lips pressed into a firm line as Draco concentrated.  His breathing, slow and even, made his tie clip catch the light in interesting ways as his chest rose and fell.  His hair, much thicker than it had been in his youth and skin less translucent, spoke volumes of improved care.  Perhaps, less stress?  Ron thought back to Draco's apparent aversion to his wand.  He wondered if the man was sick but didn't dare attempt to ask after his health, again.

"Well, your cover letter is strong.  I have to admit I'm surprised you didn't mention the modeling," Draco said as he flipped to the next page without looking up at Ron.

"Why would I mention modeling on a resume for banking?" Ron asked.  He was ashamed of the modeling.  He'd been so skinny from lack of eating that he'd had to focus almost every penny into building muscle to even be eligible for the shoots.  He'd tried magic and makeup to hide all the scaring on his arms.  Deep gouges that he'd gotten in his first year of Hogwarts when attacked by tentacles.  Scars that would never go away.  The unfair side-effects of strong protection magic.

Then, there was the fact that most modeling gigs only paid a few hundred dollars.  His job as a model barely covered his rent.  The clients and photographers spoke about his features as if he weren't human.  Made him feel cheap and worthless.  The other models were unnecessarily competitive and, for lack of a better word, quite catty.  It was always a horrible experience and he scorned the moments he caught glimpses of his body on posters and signs.  Making millions of dollars for companies that had barely given him more than a thousand. 

"Because your strength is in your presence," Draco explained.  His tone clear and honest.  "If you want an interview, mention the modeling.  People will call you in just to have a good look at you.  They'd gladly hire you once you've had a chance to talk."

"Presence?" The word felt strange on Ron's tongue. His eyebrow furrowed as Draco glanced up at him over his glasses. "You think I have presence?"

"Yes.  Loads more than Potter," Draco began, a slight grin forming on his face.  "And nowhere near as much as Granger, but..."

Ron felt a flush race up his neck and hated it. "Can you STOP mentioning her while I'm here to fuck you!"

"Oh, well, that's no longer an option is it?  The fucking, I mean," Draco responded coolly.  He had the nerve to chuckle, then.  "As for mentioning her, it was your decision to cheat."

"I'm not--I'm not cheating!" 

"Well, NOW you're not," Draco shook his head. "Thanks to me."

Ron felt the shame he'd fought off for years resurfacing.  And here he was without a stiff drink.  

"What I mean is..." Ron licked his lips at the thought of the amber liquid in two low ball glasses next to Draco's bed.  "She lives with Viktor Krum."

That finally slapped the little grin off Draco's face.  He sat the resume back down on the table and shook his head at Ron.  Glaring, of all things!

"What on Earth did you do?" he demanded.

"What do you mean what did -I- do!?  Why do you fucking care!?" Ron was bristling back.

"Hermione is a beautiful and clever witch!  She's got style," Draco's face showed how incredulous he felt.  "She's definitely going to be one of the most successful women in all of Britain.  How could you fuck that up?"

"I won't bog her down with my family's stupid problems. I would never do anything but use her and take from her!" Ron suddenly realized he was about to spill all his insecurities onto his childhood nemesis and stopped himself, "And why do you care!?  If you like her so damn much, why didn't you marry her!?"

"Oh, Ronald Weasley, trust and believe that if I weren't gay as the sun is round, I would have hexed the life out of you at Hogwarts and danced merrily into Granger's arms," Draco said.  His head tilted at Ron's stunned expression.

"Ron, you did realize I was gay, right?" Draco asked.  "The whole... Craigslist thing and Hogwarts and all."

"Yeah," Ron said.  Seeming unsure of himself.  "I think I um... I guess I'd assumed you um... also like girls.  Were bi. Are bi, I mean?"

"How progressive of you," Draco seemed genuinely impressed.  "That's more of your um... well, Harry's bag, isn't it?"

"HARRY!?"

"Oh... how are both of you completely fucking blind?" Draco's eyes rolled. "Peas in a pod, you two."

"What!?" Ron was flushed red.  His freckles blending into his skin.  He and Harry -had- experimented when they were younger.  Empty dorms over Christmas holidays.  Backyards and shared beds over Summer breaks.  It was just what teenagers did, right?

"Nevermind," Draco's voice came out in a playful sing-song before clipping the word off.  Serious, once more, he continued. "Let's get back to hiring you, alright."

"What!?  I can't work for YOU!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm rarely in the office and you'll be so far down the ladder that you wouldn't really know if I was around, anyway.  I've been thinking of bringing on a psychic but haven't wanted to deal with training someone magical.  They'd need to know how to fit into a muggle office and have a background in muggle finance.  In the US, preferably and heavens knows I haven't ventured into wizarding circles, here.  You posting that insane ad, right now, has got to be some kind of miracle for my company."

"No, I mean... I've turned down jobs from all my friends.  What would they say if they knew I'd taken one from you?"

Draco paused to look at Ron over his glasses, again.  Ron wasn't looking at him.  Didn't even seem to still be in the room.  Perhaps his far away mind was on Harry's generosity or Hermione's unyielding support.  Draco wouldn't make himself try to imagine why Ron would say no to any offers from close friends.  It's how most of his father's colleagues got their jobs.  Hell, Draco would likely be unemployed if his cousin hadn't died.  Draco knew he and Ron had led vastly different lives.

"You don't tell anyone how we ran into one another and I won't tell anyone where I work."

"You mean nobody knows?" Ron couldn't believe that.  The pissy braggart Draco had been as a kid didn't reconcile well with the reclusive adult sitting across from him.  The porcelain statue all poised and ready to helpfully critique his resume and offer backhanded compliments about his friends.

"My parents do, of course," Draco responded.

"You're one of the most powerful men in the world!  ...the muggle one."

"Yes, and if my father hadn't been an idiot, I'd be one of the most powerful men in both.  Keeping a low profile is really the only way I can live in peace.  Imagine what sabotage would hit my company if wizard radicals knew a Malfoy owned it?  Imagine how many people that have worked there for decades would be out of work?  It's better if nobody knows."

"I can't tell if I'm more shocked you care about your employees or that you spoke ill of your precious father."

"First of all, I've always been a better leader than anyone you know," Draco seemed thoroughly insulted by the implication that he was heartless.

"Hermi..."

"Unless she's greatly improved on choosing colleagues, I'll keep the title, thank you very much,"  Draco said, his mouth sliding into another grin.  This one self-indulgent.  Ron realized it was another gesture and even words that were quite Hermione-like.  He wondered if what he'd interpreted as Draco having a crush, all those years ago, had really been idol worship.  He didn't want to think too hard on how Draco thought Crabbe and Goyle were better company than he and Harry.  Perhaps it was the simple difference between the word "colleagues" and the word "subordinates." Draco hadn't had many friends at Hogwarts.  Just lackeys.

"And as for father..." Draco let out a noise that was both sigh and groan.  The smile collapsing with it.  "He's a nightmare.  Truly.  I mean, I was going bald at fourteen years old!  You remember!"

Though Draco had laughed, Ron couldn't help but worry.

"Did he... hurt you?" Ron asked.  His body leaning forward while lifting his hand and then jerking still.  He'd been about to reach out to comfort Draco.  Draco caught the movement and felt his heart swell slightly at the hint of the gesture, even though Ron hadn't gone through with it.

"The way he beat the elves?  No.  No, not at all.  But there was the whole needing an heir from his gay son and pleasing Voldemort thing.  Not easy to live a carefree, kid-life and get enough food or rest with that going on."

A companionable silence cropped up between the two of them, then.  Ron didn't point out how proud he was of Draco for being able to say "Voldemort" when people still spoke of the dead man in coded whispers.  Draco didn't say how good it felt to finally bitch about such things to someone that knew exactly what he was talking about.  He could rant to escorts and therapists all he wanted to.  They'd never understand.

Clearing his throat, Draco took up Ron's resume, once more.  He read through his work history and skills in silence.  Ron spent most of their little break staring at Draco's hair.  Glossy, straight and ever so slightly brushing against his shoulders. The ends bent to a subtle curl.  The hairline was even and dense across his brow.  Draco's forehead was large.  Protruding but not unsightly.  Smooth skin spread across it as if he'd never worried a day in his life.  His brows were heavy and slightly darker than his hair.  Light brown against his moon pale skin. His lashes were thick as well.  Gossamer curtains around crystal blue eyes that were nearly silver.  Draco caught Ron's stare.

They both looked away.

"Did you bring the photos?" Draco asked.  His voice small and shy.  No words were spat.  His eyes were on the coffee table instead of Ron's face when he spoke.

"I can't believe you still want them," Ron began as he leaned over to pick up his briefcase.  After pulling them out, he paused before passing them to Draco.  "I mean... knowing they're of me.  You're okay with it?"

"A guy can dream, right?" 

Dream of what?  Ron wondered.  He forced himself to pull up old memories.  It was hard to remember school before his stint on the run with his two best friends.  Everything before that seemed surreal.  Normal childhood stuff like rude introductions in the Great Hall and petty arguments on the grounds just didn't stick.  Perhaps Draco hadn't worshiped Hermione.  Perhaps he'd emulated her... because of Ron.  Ron shuddered at the thought of Draco being a jerk to him for years because he liked him.  Kids were such idiots.

"If it makes you uncomfortable to give them to me, you don't have to," Draco had caught the movement and misinterpreted it. "I mean it's weird... to offer you a job and keep underwear ads of you in my apartment."

"They're just photos for ads. it's not weird," Ron felt the uncanny urge to soothe Draco.  Assure Draco he wasn't making him uncomfortable.  "They were on a billboard, I think.  Loads of people saw!"

"Yeah!" Draco lit up and deflated in the same instant. "But no.  We can't pretend this isn't weird.  I'm asking if you're okay with weird."

"I came here for weird, didn't I?" Ron chuckled.  He leaned over and pressed the stack of photos into Draco's hand.  Draco's eyes drifted to the top one.  Ron's shoulder muscles.  The dip in his lower-back.  The plump but well-muscled bottom in green briefs with a yellow band.  Sparsely haired, stocky thighs.  Rigid calves.  Striped socks.

Draco's pale face flushed red.  As if it had only really just settled on him what Ron was there to do.  He'd put a stop to that, of course, but his mind did wander.  Wander right to the idea of pressing his face between those thighs and taking in the scent of the man across from him.  He quickly placed the stack of photos on the table, face down.

"Why are you still holding up your end of the bargain?"

"I didn't lie to you about wanting to try hiring a psychic," Draco said.  His hand touching his own cheek and then forehead as if checking for a fever.  He even squirmed in his seat as if Ron's reminder of their original intentions meant the color in his cheeks wasn't the only thing rising.

"Yeah, but... you get almost nothing out of this.  Just pictures," Ron continued.  Though the red on Draco's face was quite becoming, his eyes shot to Draco's neck.  The bob of his adams apple as he swallowed.  The tendons stretching as he turned his head slightly away.  The way the white skin of his throat stained pink with either arousal or embarrassment.  Why was he doing this?  Why was he insisting on an answer?  Why didn't he just leave with the promise of a job?  It was what he'd come here for.  "It feels kind of dishonorable, doesn't it?  For me to take the job I came here for and leave without giving you anything."

Draco was on the edge of his seat.  Every part of him tilted toward Ron except for his face.  His thighs pressed uncomfortably together.  He lightly rested his fingertips on the edge of the table near the photos as if planting them there helped keep him from touching Ron.

"Dishonorable?  Gryffindors," Draco laughed and then scowled in distaste.  Ron didn't try to fill up the next silence.   He let it stretch on until Draco finally turned to face him.

"Weasley... A Ravenclaw would know what's good for them and silently take the offered job," Draco started.  Ron wasn't sure he'd like whatever the Slytherin had to say about his Gryffindor tendencies but chose not to interrupt.  "A Slytherin would have blasted through the wards an hour ago and then blackmailed me for a job.  A Hufflepuff would have already sucked me off as some sort of compromise.  I suppose the average Gryffindor would bend over to grin and bear it for their honor... but you?  You want me to make you do it."

Ron felt stunned by the accusation as it sparked an epiphany.  That's exactly what he'd expected.

From the moment he posted the ad.  Someone that would press him into a plush bed and call him names as he got off despite himself.  Not the disappointment in Hermione's eyes the one time they'd tried and he'd nervously done what he could while whispering too many I Love Yous.  Not the quick but soft pawing between he and Harry that always began under the pretense of wrestling or nursing a quidditch wound.  Not the gentle sucking of the muggle girl he'd been seeing off and on since moving to New York.  Not the absent-minded ride one of his roommates had given him to make her ex jealous though the guy would probably never know.

He'd wanted a fierce fuck the way some men wanted a fight.  The kinds that happen in the alleys behind bars when both parties have lived alone and sad for far too long. Blood & pain as sharp reminders that they existed.  That there were still things out there to be felt even if feeling them really just meant to suffer through.   Ron had wanted selfish arrogance on his partner's part.  Nothing passive at all.  Nothing gentle and yielding.  Yet, he realized that Draco, though a bully, had been full of bravado in his youth.  He wasn't the type to make Ron hurt.

Draco chuckled before standing and taking the photos into one hand and the resume into the other.  He looked at Ron sitting on his couch.  Tense and bewildered at having his intentions laid bare.

"You were always so strategically wreckless," Draco said to him with the tone of a compliment.  Ron felt no appreciation for the cryptic words.  "Do you even know why you came here on so little information from me?"

"Instinct?"

"That's what you call it, hmm?"

"I don't have visions or anything."

"Is that so?  You can start on Monday.  I'll take care of everything over the weekend, myself.  As for your wrecklessness.... choose a bathroom.  Clean yourself up.  Come to me when you're ready.  Or leave.  Wards were lifted before I left my bedroom."

With that, Draco crossed the large room to drop Ron's resume into his small office and then disappeared into his bedroom behind the gilded double doors.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Not sure what was appropriate, but quite sure Draco couldn't possibly think less of him, Ron took advantage of every comfort the bathroom had to offer.  It was a full bath off one of the guest bedrooms.  Potions ingredients in tiny matching jars rested on a ledge lining one wall.  Small bottles of muggle colognes sat on a golden tray near the sink.  A thin closet door concealed a collection of white and gold bathrobes and slippers.

Ron took his time nibbling on potions ingredients while showering, letting hot water from the shower-head flow down his throat to dilute their potent properties.  It was what poor wizards did when not enough pay and long work hours made cauldrons and brewing time luxuries.  Sure, he could have used Draco's kit.  He was sure his former classmate had one.  But, in all honesty, Ron barely remembered how to brew potions the proper way.  He hadn't had the time or space since leaving Hogwarts.

Once standing outside Draco's double-doors, Ron took a deep breath to bolster his confidence.  Gryffindor or not, he was too new to this to boldly march in and declare himself ready.  Peeking inside, he spotted Draco's nude body walking languidly past.  The bed was unmade and the single rose from earlier had been tossed to the bedside table, obscuring Draco's still untouched wand.  A glass that once held amber liquid sat empty on the opposite bedside table.  Draco had a final sip of whiskey jostling at the bottom of the glass he carried.

Ron took this moment to see how Draco was built.  Though they were the same height, Draco was lanky, especially compared to the masculine bulk of Ron Weasley's fit form.  With slender fingers and thighs that barely touched, Draco gave the impression of a supermodel.  Ron had seen quite a few in person but had somehow never had the desire to stare the way he stared at Draco.  He supposed it made sense to be curious about someone he'd known so long ago.  How they'd grown and changed since the war.  He hoped it made sense.

Draco's hips were slim with a narrow but jutting pelvis.  His skin was mostly smooth, but there were shredded lines across his lower back and sides which Ron realized were old scars.  Scars more subtle than the ravines carved into his own forearms.  Squinting, Ron spotted more of the lines across Draco's buttocks and upper-thighs.  Cuts from a whip, he assumed.  His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he remembered that Draco, like Harry, had been marked by his proximity to Voldemort.

That same urge to comfort welled up inside of him, but he didn't know how to approach it.  They weren't together to be comforted.  Ron knew that if Draco craved comfort, he wouldn't be on Craigslist hiring lovers.  

The door creaked as Ron pushed it open and Draco paused in his lazy pacing.  Silently, the nude blond turned his body to face Ron.  Flat, pink nipples.  Collarbones that stood out from his flesh just like the bones at his hip.  Thin but flabby upper-arms that showed no signs of living a remotely physical life.  Calves thin but muscled in contrast to the rest of him.  At least he was the type that walked some places.  He seemed completely comfortable with no clothes on in front of another man.  Something else he didn't have in common with Ron.  Draco smirked as Ron tugged the robe shut with his hand despite having it belted at the waist.

They stared at one another for what seemed longer than normal.  Draco swirled the near-empty glass of whisky and tapped his foot as if contemplating what to do next.  Ron, watched Draco's pink cock that hung flaccid against his leg.  He eyed the soft, blond curls that framed it.  He realized that even limp, Draco had impressive girth.  More than he'd prepared for, in any case.

"Did you find everything you needed in the bath?" Draco asked over the rim of his whisky glass before taking the final sip and sitting it aside.

"Yes," Ron answered, his eyes venturing away from Draco's cock to meet his eyes.  "I used some of your potions ingredients."

"That's what they're there for," Draco said as he turned away from Ron to dim the lights in the room with a dial near his bed.  He looked around for a moment before turning on a lamp. "Which ones, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, ah... quite a few actually.  Passionflower, Lavendar..."

"For nerves?  I have whiskey, you know," Draco interrupted.  Ron didn't comment on the fact that he'd obviously finished off both glasses on his own.

"I don't want to be drowsy," Ron said.  Knowing the whiskey was a slippery slope, for him.  "Also, buckthorn, senna, aloe..."

"Wait."

"What?"

"You... -really- cleaned up," Draco sat on the bed and looked at the ginger powerhouse waiting in his doorway. Ron's legs were hairier on the front than back but he couldn't see much else because of the short robe's long sleeves.  "You mean to tell me you don't want to top?"

"I hadn't expected you to let me," Ron said.

"Do you want to?"

He did.  He wanted to grab Draco by his narrow hips and hilt himself inside of him.  Hear the arrogant blond beg and cry out.  Yet, there was something hard for Ron to admit to himself.  He needed this to be a transaction.  Not a favor from not-quite-a-friend.  He wanted the job as a payment or reward.  It was the only thing that made his leg-up over all possible competition seem anything but underhanded.  A connection to a CEO was terribly unfair.  Ron couldn't stand it.

"Well, I've already prepared for... other... things."

"You've prepared yourself to be buggered by a man that holds your future in his hands.  Doesn't that disgust you?" Draco said.  His pointed nose turned up at Ron even though the blond was seated while the redhead stood.  "It's a very disgusting idea, you know.  I'd never do such a thing."

Ron had felt much during their afternoon together.  Disgust not at all present in the swirling mishmash of emotions.  In fact, Draco's words were only bringing him a steady wave of shame as he felt interest stirring his loins.  Buggered by a man that held his future in his hands?  Completely owned and used?  Disgust was quite the opposite of what Ron felt.  He shifted his feet hoping Draco couldn't see him growing hard beneath the robe.

Silently, Ron held out his right hand, opening the palm to reveal crushed herbs.  Draco crawled, as gracefully as one could crawl across a mattress, to the foot of the bed and took a closer look.  His thin nostrils flared as he tucked his legs under himself.  Ron watched his eyes squint while concentrating on his hand.

"Arjuna?  Reishi mushrooms... Hmmm... I believe that one's curculigo," the blond identified each broken petal, cap, and shred.  The words seemed to bounce around in his head for a moment before suddenly making sense.  With a grimace, Draco looked up into Ron's eyes.  "If I take any of that, I'll need you til morning.  If I take ALL of that, you'll be broken.  Is that what you want?"

Ron shrugged.  What he wanted was to not feel excited about seeing Draco Malfoy kneeling at the foot of a bed with no clothes on, whiskey-breath, and the names of aphrodisiacs tumbling from his lips.

"You're awfully ambitious and knowledgeable for a straight guy that has never done this before."

Ron got the impression that Draco didn't believe he was straight.  From earlier discussion, he wasn't sure the man ever had.  He wondered if it was wishful thinking or perceptiveness on Draco's part.  Maybe he and Harry hadn't been as discreet as they'd hoped.  Maybe he'd been too enthusiastic in his support of Viktor Krum's quidditch skills.  Maybe he was thinking too hard and that's not what Draco meant at all.  In any case, he could see Draco's cock was thicker than it had been.  Longer.  Heavy as it dangled between his thighs.  Stiffening.  Stiffening at the thought of breaking Ron?   Ron hated himself as he realized he hoped so. 

"I did my research," Ron half-confessed.  Because Harry didn't count.  Fingers every night for the past decade didn't count.  The butt-plug he'd cleaned off, wrapped up, and tucked into his briefcase after his shower didn't count.  He wasn't into men and being fucked.  He was just... prepared.  And, perhaps if he'd had alcohol instead of makeshift potions to loosen up, he'd admit he was curious.  Especially when sating said curiosity meant a shiny new job and a better life up ahead.

"Well, for both our sakes, you should get rid of all that.  There's a bowl over there," Draco instructed as he pointed to his corner reading nook.  Next to a floor lap and chaise lounge rested a narrow table with a pen, notepad, and a small, decorative bowl.  "Don't wipe your hand off.  I'd hate to entirely waste your efforts." 

While he busied himself with dusting the ingredients into the bowl, the overwhelming smell of cinnamon filled the air.  The idea of tingling heat filling him up was intriguing to Ron. He felt the earlier stir in his loins exponentially increase as he tried to imagine how delicious such a burn would be.  There was no point hiding his arousal when he turned around.

"I see you're done playing coy, Weasley."

Draco's expression turned predatory as he spotted Ron's erection.  The lithe blond leaned back on his crumpled coverlet and let his legs hang off the end of the bed, opening suggestively in invitation.  His cock was no longer draped across his milky thigh.  The pink shaft stood up proudly and Ron stared at the moist and swollen head. Though obviously pleased by what he saw poking out of Ron's robe, Draco's disgust was all the more evident in his sneering smile.  

He'd treated Ronald Weasley, the potential employee, with respect and perhaps even gratitude.  Ronald Weasley, the straight boy with no self-respect, would find neither in the bedroom.

"Knees, Weasley," Draco instructed.

Ron was glad of the plush rug covering the floor around Draco's low-sitting bed.  The polished marble would have left his knees bruised and though he imagined he'd like the pain, bruises would affect his ability to model far more than the white, textured scars did.  Something he had to take into consideration, still, because Draco could easily tell him to piss off and never hire him.  He shook off the thought that Malfoy wouldn't honor his agreement and took a deep breath.  As expected, the cinnamon smell was coming from a lubricant Draco had spilled onto his eager cock.  

"Start with your hand," Draco said.  Ron looked past his twitching cock to see the ever present grin on Draco's face.  The predatory smile that spoke of devious intentions.  "The one you held the herbs with."

Ron's mind filled with disappointment.  As he'd dropped to the floor, he'd expected to be immediately gagged to tears.  His hair pulled.  His cheeks slapped.  Draco's eyes narrowed at him.  Ron realized hints of his thoughts must have flashed across his face.

"Sorry to bore you, my lord," Draco spat.  His tone sarcastic.  "But you were the one that brought aphrodisiacs into my chambers.  I'll have them applied properly or not at all."

Ron muttered out an apology though he could have claimed to not know what Draco was talking about.  He reached up to grip Draco's cock and slightly thrilled at the way his future boss sucked in air between his teeth.  The gritty remnants of potions ingredients dragged through the slick layer of cinnamon lube.  Moving slowly and gently until Draco encouraged him to grip tighter, Ron watched the bulging head of Draco's cock disappear beneath his fingers over and over again.  Watched as it grew redder and veins stood out more boldly along the edge of his shaft.

"Ah, fuck, this was a bad idea," Draco hissed as his hips began to lift from the edge of the bed in time with Ron's firm strokes.  "You were always shit at potions.  Why did I let you do this?"

Ron didn't know what Draco meant until the blond's intense arousal urged him to do exactly what Ron had hoped for earlier.

Slapping Ron's hand away from his cock, Draco grabbed the back of Ron's head with both hands.  Before Ron could truly prepare for the intrusion, Draco was forcing his cock into his throat, pumping it forward in quick shallow strokes.  Ron's first instinct was to slap the man's thigh.  To flail.  To fight.  Somehow, he made himself take it.  Let his body lean back as Draco stood up from the bed and stumbled forward without breaking contact with his mouth.  Ron let the herbs that he'd taken relax his muscles like they wanted to.  He also let the cinnamon-activated residue of the aphrodisiacs rub against his tongue and mingle with his saliva.   Draco nearly straddled his head and pushed into him, more.  The blond whined in pleasure as the head of his cock finally passed into the tight ring of Ron's throat.  

Ron was hard.  Achingly so.  So much that he, in turn, wanted to use Draco to get off and get off again.  Yet, he knew it wasn't his turn and it never would be.  He'd have to twitch and leak and ache.  Ron needed to hold on to his desperation with as much force as Draco put into ridding himself of his own.

Draco let the chorus of the messy froth dribbling from Ron's lips and the gagging sounds in his throat help him coast over the edge into orgasm.  Equal parts relief and escalating arousal due to the drugs, Draco Malfoy cried out incoherently as he jizzed down Ron's throat.  The orgasm did nothing to still his hips and the sensation of Ron exclaiming around his cock made him yank at Ron's hair.

"Ah, yes.  Yes!  That's it.  Scream.  Keep it up.  It feels fucking fantastic," Draco begged.  Because it was begging.  High-pitched whines like the Draco Ron had grown up with.  The same obnoxious tone that threats of telling his father usually came in.

Ron marveled at the way Draco seemed undone.  Draco marveled at how Ron's tight grip on his thighs more often pulled him in than pushed him away.  He'd never paused in his relentless thrusting but the redhead continued to breathe.  

The marvels of fucking wizards never ceased.  

Potions and small wandless magics that tumbled easily forth for comfort and protection.  A muggle reamed so thoroughly wouldn't handle things half as gracefully.  Not that there was anything graceful about the way Ron's cheeks and chest glistened with cum and spit.

Draco pulled his still hard cock from Ron's mouth with an audible pop.  Ron coughed and glared up at him as he stood there lightly stroking himself.  Messy red hair and swollen lips.  Flushed cheeks and nearly hidden freckles.

"Well aren't you a sight to behold," Draco said when Ron finally stopped coughing long enough to inspect himself.  He was wet from his lips down to his thighs.  "God, I've wanted to do that for ages but muggles always need little breaks."

Unexpectedly maternal, like earlier when he'd tried to fix Ron's tie, Draco disappeared into his bathroom and returned with two towels.  One wet and one dry.  This time, Ron didn't turn away as Draco helped him become more presentable.  Ron couldn't hold back his moans as Draco's help turned into stroking his cock with the warm, wet towel.  Skilled tugs. Twisting and varied.  He used his free hand to cup Ron's balls, gently fondling them as his he gripped Ron from base to tip and then lightly slid back down.  Teasing and toying with expert skill and attention.

"See, this is how you please a cock, Weasley," Draco instructed as Ron began to openly pant.  It was obvious he was close to cumming.  "You listen for little hints.  Moaning means keep doing that.  Silence usually means try something different."

"Feels... so perfect..."

"Of course, it does," Draco snorted.  Ron's cock began to jump and pulse as if fighting to get away from Draco's hand.  One of his fists beat against the floor as a thigh started to tremble. Just as his loins burst with pleasure, Draco let go of the towel. Cool air hit Ron's cock as the wet cloth tumbled to the floor.  Not caring that the first spray hit his legs, bed, and rug, Draco watched Ron's flushed face with interest.  "You're only good for being a couple of holes?  Hmm?"

Ron didn't want to answer.  He was weakly dripping out cum and trying to will himself to feel as good as he would have if Draco had just -not- fucking let go.  When he grabbed his cock, however, Draco slapped his hand away.

"Oh, no.  I want you to feel what it's like to get a handjob from you.  Pathetic.  Cold. Disappointing," Draco laughed as Ron's fingers tangled into the white fur on the floor.  "Did you bring me drugs because you knew you were pathetic in bed?"

Ron let the insult sting and didn't reply.  His cock continued to dribble as he got control over his own breathing.  Draco left the bedroom with the towels and Ron wondered what would happen, next.  Would he be expected to leave?  He'd be hard for hours and that suit wouldn't hide it.  At least he had the briefcase.  Draco would be fine.  He could easily call in a replacement.  Some fit escort that knew how to roll his hips, grip with his hand, and use his mouth.  Someone that actually knew how to earn their payment.  

Draco returned to the room with water for both of them and an comment about needing to order them dinner, soon.  Ron wasn't being kicked out.

 "Oh, trust me, if you were some random bloke I didn't know, you'd be out on your ass, right now," Draco said when he saw Ron's stunned expression.  "Thankfully, I had low expectations once I realized YOU were my date.  Off the floor, Weasley."

"What does knowing me change?"

"Again, I want you to work for me.  In fact, if you'd just applied like a normal human being instead of this Gryffindor-level Craigslist-stunt, You would have gotten a job," Draco said.  "If you'd gone to your friends, or even me, and just said you needed help, you would have gotten a job."

"You knew it was me from the moment I entered the building, didn't you?"

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"Wait, I'm confused..." Ron's frown was a pitiable thing.

"Of course, you are," Draco sighed, "But now that we're here.  I hope your claim of an 'enthusiastic encounter' wasn't false advertisement."


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been edited quite a lot. You may want to start from the beginning, again if you've read 1-3 before 03/04/16

"No matter what your honor tells you to do, any job is voluntary," Draco said out of the blue as he and his guest stood in his kitchen sharing food and a comfortable silence.

Most of his partners insisted on filling up silences with trying to get to know him better.  He hated that part of any new relationship because of how many lies were necessary to distance himself from magic, Malfoys, and his job.  Ron knew Draco's secrets.  Something that would have horrified Draco ten years prior, but made him feel comfortable and far too close to the ginger chugging down a bottle of water in front of him.

Ron put distance between them several times.  Draco opened the fridge and backed into him.  He scuttled over to the sink.  Draco would approached the sink to rinse an apple and knife.  Ron skittered past him, rounded the island counter, and sat on a golden bar-stool, letting the robe keep his naked bottom from making contact with the white leather cushion and shield his skin from the cold but beautiful, metal back.

Just for fun, Draco took a seat next to his guest and let their knees lightly graze one another.  Probably sensing that his future boss was being purposefully invasive, Ron finally stopped scrambling away at every touch.  Draco grew giddy at the many ways Ron tried to reassert their distance from one another.  Still, Draco hated to be the source of anyone's misery.  Ron's nervousness inspired Draco to offer the man freedom.  A job elsewhere.  No need to see the man that you'd blown that one time in a fit of desperation for a better life.

Draco let his mind wander away from his semi-hard cock.  Despite their growling stomachs and parched throats, their bodies still begged for contact.  It was a nice feeling. The urgent arousal. An urge Draco enjoyed denying.  One of the many reasons he kept aphrodisiacs around in the form of herbs and mushrooms.  Something distracting but not debilitating.  When he'd first moved to America, it had been a sport of his to dust a tiny bit into his coffee before an inevitably boring meeting.  To feel his pleasure mounting ever so slightly with every sip.  To twitch and ooze his way through rattled off numbers he didn't understand and droning voices he hated hearing.  Draco hadn't always cared about the future of his small but effective boutique bank.

Draco's new life had seemed boring next to the adventures he imagined his former classmates were having.  Grand parties with floating bands.  Jobs as spellbinders, cursebreakers, and aurors.  Magic flowing infinitely from their fingertips without a care. All those glamorous ideas made Draco feel pathetic for living in a foreign country and hiding his wand.  Pretending to not be what everyone around him would consider a freak of nature.

He'd gone from wanting to be the most important boy in his school to merely wanting to be accepted.  His father would rage at how far he'd fallen.  His mother would beg him to return home and never forgive herself for sending him away.   Draco had lied in his letters home.  About spending time with college classmates.  About taking tours and seeing the sights.  About being happy.

Work meetings eventually started to make more sense when Draco began his senior year in college. Draco stopped dosing for a distraction and started paying attention.  The first time the cold loneliness of being a solitary wizard among muggles left him in nearly three years was when he'd finally contributed to a meeting.  The board nodded along as he spoke and said "That sounds about right" in various ways once he was done.  They took notes of their own.  The stodgy accountant equivalent of uproarious applause.  Draco had beamed, inside.  A stern nod to match theirs but a heart that sang for the first time in what felt like forever.

It was when school started to finally pay off and work started to finally fulfill him that he inevitably wanted more.

A husband?

A boyfriend?

A friend, at the very least?

Aggravating bar after aggravating nightclub.  Gloryholes and taxi-cab-handjobs.  Dangerous and less-than-savory settings for something as intimate as an orgasm.  He moved on to hiring escorts.  Yet, even that felt hollow.  

More hollow.  

At least the guy in the other bathroom stall might ask for a phone number after getting off.  Escorts were paid to smile.  Paid to love.  ...and then they were gone.  Draco had known it would have been foolish to expect otherwise.  Perhaps drugs and solitary fantasies had been the right solution, after all.

Ron asked about a toothbrush and snapped Draco out of his reverie.  "There's an extra in my personal bathroom.  The white box on the second shelf near the door."

After waiting what felt like enough time for Ron to have brushed his teeth and otherwise freshened up, Draco returned to his bedroom.  This time, it seemed, Ron was attempting to play the role of an enthusiastic date.  Though the robe remained on, he'd at least laid down on the bed and made no effort to cover his erection.  Draco crawled in next to him and they remained still for a few moments.  Not even nearly touching on the king-sized mattress.

As he lay next to Ron, who was whispering out the names of the tiny greek gods and constellations mapped out on Draco's ceiling in entirely mundane, muggle oil paint, Draco couldn't make himself regret the year he'd spent getting off via Craigslist.  If he'd been more careful and less desperate, he wouldn't have this.  A night to rival most of his dreams and the opportunity to show the golden trio that, he too, had value.  A petty desire from too cushy an upbringing?  Yes.  But, Draco would not feel shame for it.  None of his childhood expectations had panned out for his career, his parents, or his magic.  He would at least have this.

"I can always give you a glowing reference for another company," Draco offered since Ron hadn't spoken up, earlier.  "That's what I mean by voluntary.  Don't feel obligated to work for me.  I can get you into analysis, anywhere."

"It'll be easier to explain to you than anyone else, I think," Ron said, seemingly to the ceiling.  "When I have a hunch and there's no way to logically connect the dots, I can say "Oi, Malfoy.  This one." and you can say "This is my company, we'll do what Weasley says" instead of me always having to figure out how to justify investments. You get me.  You understand what I do."

It made Draco warm in ways he wouldn't admit.  To be considered the one that understood someone else.  It felt like being let in on a secret.  The innocent kind of secret friends kept.  Nothing like hiding the crimes of his father and the misery of his mother.  Something wholly good, for a change.

Risking that it would show in his eyes, Draco turned on his side and propped his head up to stare at Ron's face.  He didn't really care what Ron saw in his expression.  The man knew he was gay.  Knew he'd invited him over enthusiastically after seeing pictures of his nearly nude body.  What could his face say that wasn't already laid bare?

"So, you're still coming to my company after all that?"

"That?" Ron asked.  Eyes still not flitting to the side, at all.  It was unnerving what amount of concentration he put into the art above them.  Draco knew Ron was forcing himself not to look.  But why?

"Jabs at your pathetic love-making," Draco chuckled.  Ron still didn't turn to look at him.  Didn't even let his eyes slip over for a glance.  The redhead just snorted and then outright laughed.  Draco loved that smile in an instant and couldn't keep watching.  His eyes moved from the side of Ron's face to the hands he let lazily rest on his belly.  The robe was still in place.  Wide open, but covering his arms.

"I think I'm relieved you said something," Ron said as his giggling settled down.  "I'm terrible at most of it.  ...and I know it.  But girls, they..."

"Are socialized to avoid bruising male egos and therefore end up stomaching the mediocre flopping that straight boys inflict upon them?"

Ron's eyes did cut over to Draco, then, and Draco counted it as a tiny victory.  After such a tirade Ron had expected a glare but saw nothing but mirth on the blond's features.  "I was going to say that they were nice?!"

"True," Draco easily conceded.  Pleased that Ron's eyes weren't avoiding him, still. "Though I've got to say I was hoping you were only abysmal because I'm not a girl.  I also hope you don't think girls are naturally nice or that you've somehow earned 'nice.' They're expected to be nice, so a lot of them are."

"You make it sound so clinical."

"I guess thinking about girls is very academic, for me.  I've never touched one."

"A girl?"

"Never wanted to.  Still don't," Draco's tone implied a shrug.  Something Ron liked about the conversation:  How natural it seemed.  As if they'd always been friends.

"But you and..."

"Yeah, I've had girlfriends," Draco admitted. "I usually distract them well enough with fancy gifts."

"If jewelry and clothes were enough of a distraction, they didn't know what they were missing out on," Ron said with a chuckle.  Then, suddenly realizing what it sounded like, he closed his eyes and flushed red.  Draco had seen the man blush far too many times in one evening but felt, deeply, that it would never be enough.

"Oh?" Draco nudged closer to Ron, letting his cock poke into the redhead's hip.  Ron didn't flinch away.

"I mean... if I were a girl, I'd..."

"But not a lesbian, right?" Draco chuckled, enjoying the way the slick head of his cock slid against Ron's thigh.  He couldn't stop his hips from moving but fought hard to make his movements smaller.  He hissed with pleasure and bit his lip against apologizing for his lack of control.  They'd agreed to this and Ron hadn't left, yet.

"If I were into blokes, I'd..." Ron stopped.  His eyes had reopened but they were back on the ceiling.  His body was tense. Draco could sense it and wanted him to relax.

"You'd do what?"  Draco's voice was far too breathless for such a tiny point of contact.  But the herbs made everything feel just so damn intense.

"I mean, you are," Ron's fingers flexed on his belly.  His toes curled.  Draco was both guilty and giddy at his embarrassment.  "You're--you're really good."

"Good?  Good at decorating?  Good at dressing?" Draco sucked in a breath as his cock gave a powerful twitch. Precum gushed onto the leg he was pressed against.  At least that made his hips freeze for a moment. "I'm good at tugging on your wand?"

"Sure, all of that.  Yes," Ron burst out laughing, then.  It was loud.  Slightly hysterical.  Dripping in nerves.  He reeled it in, though.  Didn't move away from Draco.  Didn't turn to face him, again. Then, Ron whispered.  "But I mean your face, I guess.  It's good."

Draco outright laughed and he pushed at Ron's shoulder with his hand. A playful gesture that didn't match just how wound up his body was.  He'd wanted a friend.  Perhaps a friend just like Ron.  And somehow he'd gone and fucked it up before it could get started.  He barely remembered what friendships felt like, anyway.  Where they anything like what he'd had as a kid with Crabbe and Goyle? Well, before their parents introduced a hierarchy to their social lives that Draco at the time, gleefully and in hindsight, regretfully exploited.  

How had he connected with someone that felt comfortable and felt right but ended up being their boss?  Ended up frotting against their thigh because they'd likely choose not to tell him to stop?

"You think I'm pretty, Weasley!" Draco's voice was pleasing to Ron's ears.  The way it trembled with his strained arousal and laughter.  Joy, something he felt was rare from Draco, was a charming change from his usually spiteful tone.

"For people that like blokes," Ron corrected him.  Because Harry didn't count.  Certain dreams didn't count.  And, right then, Draco didn't count.  Couldn't count.  Least of all because nothing could come of it.

"Hmmm... you're awfully good at taking abuse for someone that doesn't like men," Draco sighed as he leaned closer.  "I suppose we should blame the situation--and the herbs?"

Ron caught his flirtatious tone and couldn't make himself stare back into the eyes that he knew were fixated on his lips.  "Definitely the herbs."

Draco watched as one of Ron's hands slid down from where they rested on his belly.  Gliding over the thin trail of perfectly groomed, ginger hair that blazed a path from his nazel to his groin.  Circled his still-hard cock with a firm grip.  The kind of grip a man used at the base to keep from spending, too early.  Mischief in his heart, Draco leaned even closer.  So close that his breathing was likely tickling the skin just above Ron's lips.

"I'd like to collect on your promise of enthusiasm, now," Draco said, refusing to close the distance between them.  Willing Ron to, against all odds, want it.  Want him.

Whether Ron wanted to be kissing him, or not, Draco wouldn't try to guess.  He just enjoyed the strong arm that pulled his body over so that he could straddle Ron.  Delighted at the way Ron's mouth engulfed his own.  Let himself, for a moment, not be in charge.  Let his tongue follow Ron's and his pink lips bruise red as Ron bit and sucked much too hard for a first kiss and not hard enough for Draco's tastes.

He moaned into Ron's mouth as the redhead bucked up against him and then locked him into a hug with his other arm.  Draco struggled to free his arms from Ron's grip and immediately shoved both into his red hair once they were free.  As he pulled, Ron groaned loud, let his hips stutter forward out of rhythm with his previous strokes, and bit into Draco Malfoy's bottom lip nearly enough to draw blood.  Draco, frotting on his own, much faster than Ron's slow and determined pace, realized that as Ron's hips stilled, his belly and cock grew wet with Ron's cum.  He wouldn't comment on it, but something about Ron crying out in orgasm right as he pulled hard on his red hair was invigorating.  The arms around Draco nearly pressed the breath from his lungs but it felt good.  To be held.  To be used like a doll to get a man off.  To finally bite back.

When Ron let go of Draco, his arms fell weakly to his sides.  Draco slid down his body and propped himself between Ron's spread legs. "You're a fantastic kisser, Weasley.  I can't believe you held out on me, like this."

"People say I'm too rough," Ron murmured.  His cock wouldn't fully soften, but he was running out of energy for the night.  Draco knew if he took his time, he'd likely be dealing with a sleeping partner.  Thankfully, he was quite sure he wouldn't last long, anyway.

"You'll never hear that from me," Draco said.  The bed shifted as he reached into a bedside drawer.

"What's that sound?"

"Oh," Draco tossed the opened condom wrapper aside.  "Um... a muggle habit.  A condom."

"No spell?" Ron opened his tired eyes and pushed up on his elbows to look at Draco.  Something in Ron's expression made Draco feel uncomfortable.  Like Ron had caught him in some sort of lie.

"I..." He didn't want to lie while Ron was staring at him, like that.  Draco did his best to bolster his own courage.  He was in charge, here! "No spell, Weasley.  Problem?"

Ron took a deep breath through flared nostrils.  An obvious effort to calm some internal aggravation that Draco couldn't figure out the cause of.  He let the breath go with a sigh and rolled his eyes. "No. No problem."

Ron settled back down and let his knees bend.  His stomach fluttered with anticipation as the cinnamon smell returned to the room.  He ignored Draco's comment on the surprisingly inviting state of his ass.  He decided not to tell his future boss about the plug he'd worn off and on for the past week.  He decided not to confide in Draco about the years of anal play with everything from fingers to vibrators to dildos.  He definitely decided not to expose his past relationship with his best friend.  There was no mention of how his first orgasm with another person had been against Harry's hard cock as they'd learned how good it felt to kiss, fondle, and play.

Ron decided against speculating on how some people might say that those things meant he wasn't what he'd called himself.  Straight.

One probing finger quickly turned to two.  Another quip about it being too easy, somehow, from Draco.

Three.

Ron grunted in protest and Draco stilled his hand.

"I didn't say stop," Ron huffed out.  His voice tiny in the spacious room.  Draco couldn't tell if he was being shy or if he was truly that tired.

"Three was a little ambitious, that's all," Draco comforted him, either way.  Much slower, he let two fingers probe and curl in search of Ron's pleasure. A gentle, double-digit "come here" gesture to stretch and tease Ron's entrance.

No matter how they both ached for another release, Draco never rushed this part with anyone.  He let the soft pads of his fingertips deftly stroke Ron's insides.  Smooth skin tickling the nerve endings on velvety walls.  He was generous with the lubricant and Ron thought the constant burn of cinnamon might end up being enough to make him cum, again.

When Draco reintroduced the third finger, Ron groaned, again.  This time it was obviously not pain or discomfort that brought on the noise.  It was pleasure and his mounting impatience to be fucked.  Somewhere distant, a thought of not wanting to seem too interested stumbled into being and collapsed in his subconscious.  The prevailing thought in Ron's mind was just that he wanted more.  He wanted it hard and fast.  Something he'd never gotten out of Harry.  Something he could barely replicate on his own.  Something Draco had shoved down his throat earlier.

"Fuck, Draco," Ron gasped. His semi-hard cock fighting to hardwn again as the herbs finally started to wear down.  "Just get on with it!"

"If you want me finished that badly, We don't have to do it."

Ron glared up at Draco.  He didn't want to say more.  Didn't want to beg.  This day had completely unmade him, but he could at least keep some things in tact.  His pride, most of all.  Slowly, Ron sat up, pulling his bottom out of Draco's reach as his body folded into a sitting position.  Confused about why Ron was pulling away but not mean enough to question what the man chose to do with his own ass, Draco let the legs he'd folded underneath himself stretch out along the mattress.

"So... I'll call you?" Draco asked.  Still puzzled.  Ron was eyeing him as if sizing him up.  The redhead slipped off the robe and let it fall behind him.  It occured to Draco that Ron hadn't simply settled into a sitting position.  He was easing his way forward.  Leaning closer and closer to Draco until he looked much like a lion ready to pounce. "About work, I mean."

Ron did pounce, then.  A forceful hand in the middle of Draco's chest pushed him backwards.  The other hand grabbed his right hip and maneuvered him away from the edge of the bed.  It felt odd to be with someone strong enough to drag him around a mattress and place him where they wanted him to be.  It felt odd to be so comfortable with the mistreatment.  He trusted Ron not to hurt him.  Shocking as that was.  Well, he trusted Ron not to hurt him any ways other than the most pleasurable.

Ronald " _I am straight but will be enthusiastic in our encounter"_ Weasley only hoped that lowering himself onto Draco Malfoy's condom-wrapped and lubricated cock showed a reasonable amount of feigned enthusiasm.  As he straddled Draco Malfoy with both palms pressed into the blond's chest and rolled his hips forward so that Draco's cock slid almost entirely out of him, catching the swelling head with clenching muscles before gyrating -just so-  ...Ron hoped the pleasured hiss that escaped his lips showed a reasonable amount of feigned enthusiasm.  As Ron moaned out the first name of his future boss with eyes closed and thighs quivering with both pleasure and effort, his mind blanked too thoroughly to allow him to hope further.

For the first self-initiated thrusts, Ron had no assistance.  Draco simply lay underneath him groaning with abandon after a single, started yelp.  Soon, pale fingers gripped at ruddy thighs and Draco found enough leverage to buck away from the mattress and into his partner's ass.

Draco's joy at Ron's sudden leadership was apparent on his face.  Ron couldn't look away from his wide and awestruck smile.  Couldn't unhear his jubilant moan and further exclamations.  Couldn't argue with what came out of his mouth as he planted his feet more securely and pounded Ron with strength and balance the redhead never would have expected him to have. 

 "Weasley, you fucking hot little liar," Draco shouted at him, loud even above the wet slapping of the wet cock slamming repeatedly into his ass.  "I know a bottom when I fuck one and you've done this, before!"

Ron felt himself being pushed up and needing to fall backwards and further brace himself with his hands.  If he'd thought he'd be allowed to give Draco an impressive ride, he'd been mistaken.  Draco was taking over.  Just as any lifelong brat would.  His pleasured cries were broken by the swift staccato of Draco's strokes.  He knew he'd cum again, soon. If Draco's tempo was any indication, the blond wouldn't hold out much longer.

"Tell me you like this, Weasley," Draco demanded.  With barely any of Ron's weight bearing down on him, he could slow his tempo.  Pulling out and slamming back in, carefully.  Gripping Ron's hips as he shoved himself inside.  Forceful slams that any novice would have found painful.  Ron simply gasped out as if the sensation in his ass went straight to his dribbling cock.  Precum leaking over his sack to wet Draco's belly as he fucked him.

"It's... good..."

"No! No! No!" Draco followed each word with a hard thrust.  Then, he stopped, entirely.  Falling back onto the mattress and allowing Ron to land on him, fully impaled in the fall.  "Get off, Weasley.  Turn over."

Ron's heart died and returned as he thought Draco would kick him out, again, before getting off.  The instruction to turn over soothing him in an instant.  His belly was flat against the mattress for only a few seconds.  Draco pulled his hips up and kneeled behind him.  Instead of immediately thrusting in, as Ron had expected, the blond just reached underneath him, teasing his cock with a light and slow grip.

"I can get you off, again.  Make you cum one more time before you fall asleep," Draco offered as Ron whined at the touch.  "I could even suck you until you cum in my mouth.  I've always been a good lad.  Eager to swallow..." 

Ron's hips squirmed.  The touch wasn't enough.  Despite the dirty words sounding delicious on Draco's tongue, they weren't what his body craved.  Nowhere near.  A finger slid inside him without warning and he immediately fucked himself against it, only slowing when he realized Draco's hand hadn't moved.  The blond laughed, behind him.

"Ah, Weasley.  You are truly aching for it," Draco's cackle was less insult than delight.  The mattress shifted as Draco moved.  His finger slid out of Ron and his other hand let go of Ron's cock.  Soon, there was the blunt tip of Draco's cock lightly probing in and out of Ron's ass.  "Is this what you .want, Weasley?"

Ron answer was muffled by a pillow.  He gripped the soft cushion with both strong arms.  Cradling it as he trembled with pleasure.  Draco teased more.  Told Ron he wanted to hear him.

"Yes, fuck. Merlin, Malfoy.  YES!" Ron was aggravated.  Obviously so close to cumming and upset that he may do it long before Draco resumed his relentless pounding.  He wanted to know what it felt like to have an orgasm while a man's cock ripped through him.  Another thought struck him, then.  "Ah, but wait!"

Draco, ever accommodating, pulled back immediately at Ron's word of hesitation.  He watched with confusion as Ron flipped onto his back and bent his legs, this time pushing his hips off the bed and tucking another pillow underneath his back.  When Ron declared himself "Ready" Draco laughed, again.

"Oh, Weasley, what's the story?  I'm straight but all my job-interviews start this way?" Draco garbled out the second sentence in a teasing facsimile of Ron's voice and accent.

He slid forward to kiss at the moisture along Ron's hip.  His lips pressing a gentle trail all the way to the soft, fatty inner thigh.

"Come on, Draco!"

"Shut it, Ron! ...unless you're going to say something about this pushy bottom thing you've got going on."

"I promised enthusiasm."

"And I expected eager and clueless," Draco responded.  His mouth drawing near Ron's still glistening cock.  "Well, until you emailed me photos."

"What!?" Ron asked, only slightly distracted by the warm breath ghosting along his cock.

"Headless photos of Ronald Weasley.  Scars and all." Draco whispered.

His confession that he'd known all along somehow not surprising Ron as much as he'd hoped.  Yet, Ron had expected that Draco knew because of a camera at the front desk or a spell.  Not that he'd figured it out long before they'd first made plans to meet.  Draco was kissing up his belly, then and Ron let his hips fall.  Ron turned his head to look at one arm.  Mind consumed at Draco's cock cradled itself against his own and the blond kissed up his chest.  The snaking, white marks along his forearm were stark against his flushed skin.  He'd had them since the end of first year.  Shameful marks from a heroic act.

"You... wanted me?"

Draco paused just as he'd been about to kiss Ron's collarbone.  He'd never expected such a question.  A "You knew?!" if Ron was stupider than he looked.  Perhaps a "You tricked me!" since he was a Gryffindor.  Never a small admission of his self-consciousness.  Nothing so bare and honest.  He sighed as he decided not to be the man Ron probably expected him to be.  He let the kiss connect with Ron's lips, instead.

Parting their mouths slowly, understanding that the rules had somehow changed in an instant, they took their time with this kiss.  Neither one wanting to seem too eager as adept tongues flicked carefully against one another.  Slowly, Ron let his arms curl around Draco.  A much lighter hug than before.  They pulled away from each other and Draco looked directly into Ron's eyes.  Face carefully blanked.

"Such a romantic answer," Ron chuckled nervously.

"Is it?"

"I..."

"Do you want it to be?" Draco asked.

He hadn't expected Ron to answer and Ron's immediately diverted gaze was enough to tell him that the conversation was over.  He pulled himself back far enough to bring his lips to Ron's neck.  Ron made no protest as Draco pushed at his thighs to angle him better.  Ron moaned with apparent relief as Draco slid into him.

They'd allowed themselves to be teased, too long.  Draco held Ron's hip with his left and as his right tugged at Ron's hair.  His mouth went from kissing Ron's neck to biting into his shoulder in an instant.  Ron's arms at still found a way to hug his thin body and they'd slipped too far over the pillow for either of them to be comfortable, but neck cramps were for the morning.  At that moment, all sensation was pure pleasure.  Deep groans and cocks cresting toward orgasm.

"Ah, Draco, I'm gonna cum!"

The announcement barely preceded the splattering of seed against Draco's belly.  Ron hummed out a steady tone of pleasure as Draco rammed into him, his pace quickening as he neared his own completion.  Ron was gripping him even tighter.  Pressing clumsy kisses to the top of his head.  His humming solidified into a malformed mumble.  Some mindless mash containing words like "good" and "more."   Ron's cock was barely softening beneath him.  He wondered if the redhead had one more orgasm in him.

Sure enough, Draco sitting up as much as he could with Ron pulling at him set his cock at a new angle that made Ron cry out.  The man had a hair trigger, it seemed.  Because Draco felt it as Ron came, again.  Saw it in his face as his blue eyes rolled back.  Ron lost all strength and his arms fell to his sides.  Draco sat up, watching Ron's dazed and pleasured face as he fucked him, harder.  Ron's blushing belly was a delicious mess of white and Draco was genuinely shocked at how much Ron could cum with the help of a mouthful of aphrodisiacal herbs.  Perhaps it had been unfair to imbibe topically and then shove the rest down Ron's throat.

Draco at least managed to fuck Ron until his softened cock finally stopped leaking.  His own load gushed out of him as he cried out Ron's name.  His last name, like usual.  Then his first name.  Reverently and repeatedly.

Draco only managed to sprawl out beside Ron afterward.  They'd done far too much in one afternoon.  Perhaps as much as any couple, but neither of them had spent so much time with another person in years.  Ron's hand fumbled over toward Draco's wand.  The only wand in the room, at the moment.  A noise of mild discomfort left his throat but he was able to cast a cleaning charm.  Albeit an imperfect one.  The suddenly empty though stretched condom remained on Draco, as did a light sheen of sweat along both their exhausted bodies. 

"Hey, you didn't ask permission to touch that," Draco said with no real indignation.  "And thanks."

"You're welcome.  And you probably haven't used it in months, so whatever."

"What?" Still too tired to really move, Draco's hand merely thumped against Ron's thigh. 

"Magebane."

Draco cringed.  He'd never thought to hide his habit from his other guests. Ron was the first wizard to visit him in New York.  Even his family simply waited for his few and far between visits home.  Magebane, like his aphrodisiacs, was a drug he used to keep himself sane in a life without magic.  Or at least that's what he told himself.  He wasn't sure how long Ron had been in New York working for muggles and living with them, even.  But the redhead seemed to be coping better with the lack of magic in his life.  He said as much in a voice only slightly above a whisper.

"I mean it looks that way because I haven't had time for a drink, tonight," Ron said.  "...or several."

"Alcohol!?" Draco sounded like he was grimacing.  "How can you stand such a lack of control?!  Doesn't magic just come fizzling out of you when you're drunk?"

Where Ron sought oblivion, Draco sought focus.

"Not if I pass out,"  Ron's voice implied a shrug.  His fingers slid against Draco's.  Not quite holding his hand.  "I know alcohol isn't great, but magebane is flat-out dangerous.  You're hurting yourself."

"I've no reason to keep relying on magic," Draco confessed into the near darkness.  "There will never be a reason for me to go back to the way I used to live.  It's easier to blend in, here, if I just cut myself off." 

"Yeah, but don't you feel... weak?  Like you're bleeding out?" Ron asked.  Magebane was the tool of vampires and werewolves looking for a fairer fight with wizards.  As dust inhaled when blown during battle or as a liquid tipping an arrow or spear, magebane could incapacitate a magic-user for hours.  It was one of the most illegal substances in the world.  Even muggles considered it a controlled substance, but Draco didn't know the muggle name for it.  There were horror stories of magical creatures that hated humans capturing wizards and feeding them magebane in heavy doses for weeks on end.  Making them squibs, forever. 

"No.  Never," Draco said.  It was true.  At first, he'd been hyper-aware of how often he picked up his wand.  How many mundane things he waved it for.  But, it wasn't so bad to stir his coffee by actually holding the spoon, carry normal-sized grocery bags into the elevator with both arms or with the help of a bellhop, and actually sit in a car for an hour and wait to arrive at his destination instead of apparating.  Muggle life was just a slower version of the life he'd led and Draco relished the feeling of his patience developing.  The feeling of relaxing between one task and the next.

"Yeah, but can't you just abstain from magic?  Not cut it off, completely?"

"If I had -that- much control, I wouldn't need it."

"You don't need it!"

"You're not my father, Weasley!"

"Yeah, well your father would probably understand you beating yourself up... but I'm your friend and I'm gonna say I don't like it."

"You... your friend?" Draco chuckled.  "When did that happen?"

Ron shrugged though Draco couldn't see him and let his fingers lace themselves between Draco's.

"I don't now how I'm supposed to work with you after all this," Draco sighed as he let his fingers curl, too.

Ron gave Draco's hand a squeeze.


	5. Epilogue

He'd not hired Ron into a distant position where they would never see one another.

Draco, perhaps selfishly, brought Ron in to act as his public face but with the title of Executive Assistant.  Nothing terrifying enough to rattle his company's many managers.  Something significant enough to serve as a good job history when Ron inevitably grew tired of Draco hiding behind him. Though selfish, Draco knew he'd never hold Ron back.  

As long as Ron allowed it, Draco had plans for him.  Perhaps it was foolish, but he sometimes daydreamed of leaving the company in Ron's surprisingly capable hands.  Dreams that involved a life that hadn't just stumbled into his lap.  Despite those dreams, moving out of America rarely crossed his mind.  A new career or a few years of leisure appealed, but not as much as staying near Ron, did.  He envied the needle-sharp focus of Ron and his friends.  He envied Ron's friends for not being awkwardly positioned in his life as a former nuisance and current employer.

He envied Hermione, though Ron never mentioned her.  Perhaps Ron knew how much it would hurt him.

Months passed before Draco realized Ron wasn't buying new suits but instead wore his old one, daily, like a uniform.  Something most people didn't seem to notice but Draco detested.

"You represent me, after all," the blond had said as Ron glumly trudged into the shop of Draco's personal tailor.

"I'm not wearing head-to-toe white and gold," Ron grumbled as he let himself be measured for a new wardrobe.

"Eww, of course not.  You're far too ruddy to dress like me," Draco grimaced.  "I think we'll stick to somber grays and perhaps navy, for the moment."

While Draco was still sure not a soul had noticed Ron wearing holes into his original suit, their colleagues definitely noticed his new look.  Perfectly tailored to show off broad shoulders and accentuate Ron's thick, muscular arms, the suits turned almost every head that had stopped turning for Draco.  Draco felt it strange that his jealousy wasn't directed at Ron, for stealing attention that had once been his.  Instead, Draco felt fiercely protective of his assistant, wishing those roaming eyes would keep to themselves and stop ogling his... not-boyfriend.  

What a silly thing to let his heart do. Yet, Draco couldn't help it.  

Ron was one of the first faces he saw each morning.  They ate lunch, together, nearly every day.  There were even times when Draco needed to work late and instead of corresponding, virtually, Ron simply spent the night in one of his guest bedrooms after a full evening of reading over paperwork and crunching numbers.  

Once, they'd shared a giggle-fit after having a middle-of-the-night video conference with an overseas client.  From the waist up, they were both in business formal.  From the waist down, they were in boxers and socks.  

Many more months passed before Draco realized Ron still lived in his shoebox of an apartment with chattering roommates and no insulation from the noisy street, below.  He found out Ron's tendency to nap whenever time allowed wasn't a quirk of his personality but a genuine lack of sleep.  The redhead usually woke up three hours early, to ride the train to work.  

It had been so long since their single night of intimacy that Draco didn't know how to breach the topic of Ron moving in with him... or at least into the same building.  He told himself he wanted Ron around to hop into the car with him.  To save time. Energy.  His heart, with the way it ached beautifully every time Ron smiled or laughed, wouldn't let him lie to himself.

Draco finally decided to convince Ron to move.

"It has come to my attention that your accommodations are lacklus--no.  That they create a daily inconvenience for your--no.  That you should just live with me. I have five bedrooms for fucks sake," Draco announced into his bathroom mirror the night before he was to speak with Ron.

Draco's tone turned bitter and sarcastic as he realized he didn't know what to say "However, if that's just too gay for you, you're welcome to pick any suite in the building and I'll pay for it."

Draco took a moment to think harder.  He hated the worry lining his face in the mirror.  He wished he could make himself not care where Ron lived.

"No," Draco said to his reflection.  "I should say it's a company perk and just give him the keys to a place.  Fuck, he might start working on the treasury, eventually, and realize I lied.  ...who would get pissed about a free apartment?"

Ron, apparently. As Draco had suspected.

Much to his credit, the proud Gryffindor knew it was a moment for keeping his roar in check.  He thanked Draco for the offer and insisted on paying his own rent though he was grateful that Draco's signature helped him get approved as a tenant.  

Draco tried not to feel too much grief when he saw that all of Ron's possessions outside of the ten suits and five pairs of shoes he'd purchased for him fit into a single suitcase.  Draco told himself that perhaps Ron had used magic to make more than the usual fit into the solitary case.  He knew Ron hadn't.

A week after moving into his new apartment, Ron invited Draco over.

A small dinner to prove to him he'd not only purchased furniture but had even decorated, a bit.  Draco had jokingly accused him of not having good enough taste to do either thing well and the blond was pleasantly surprised to be proven completely wrong.

Draco's eyes narrowed at his employee when he saw the delightful spread of London's most popular wizard cuisine.  Imported snacks, and all.  Candles.  Stylish flatware.  Comfortable and modern seating that any muggle with good taste would swoon for.

And...

A single, white rose in a vase between their plates.

Ron, always nervous and unsure of himself when the context of their interactions wasn't work, pulled out Draco's chair, poured them both wine that sparkled and swirled with hints of delicate magic, and then awkwardly climbed into his seat.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were about to propose," Draco joked right before downing his entire glass in a single gulp.  Something he'd never do elsewhere, but this was just Ron.  Someone that knew all his secrets and kept them, well.

"Um... I mean..." Ron was flushed, then.  Looking away from Draco's grinning face.  Draco realized he'd made a mistake but couldn't imagine what it was.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by that.  I just," Draco kicked himself. "This is lovely."

He couldn't expect Ron to know how to set up a proper dinner party. One that firmly straddled professionalism.  One that put an appropriate amount of distance between them because Draco couldn't help but yearn for closeness.  Ron had probably only had past dinners with friends that weren't dreaming every night about how great their fingers felt against his back while they were buried inside of him.  

"I'm kind of as--asking you on a date," Ron said.  Hesitation in every word but a steady gaze straight into Draco's eyes.  It was too much to take in, for a moment.  Draco had grown so accustomed to talking to the side of Ron's face.  The top of his head.  His back.

"This is a date?"

"Um... if you want?" Ron asked, his flushed face doing things to Draco's heart.  Would the beating organ burst from his chest?  Was he dreaming? "I guess?  But I meant, Hermione's wedding.  I know you don't like being around people, anymore, but she was so pushy about me bringing you along."

"She knows about me?" Draco asked.  Genuinely surprised and confused.  Ron had told his secret and it seemed his trust of Ron could extend to Granger, as well.  It hadn't gotten back to him, at least.  Not yet.

"No!  No. I wouldn't.  No, not ever.  I ju--just figured, if you want, you can tell her yourself," Ron's eyes finally looked away.  His nerves were obviously far more rattled than Draco's "Not at the wedding.  You know. Later."

They let the implication of more chances for Hermione to see Draco and talk to him hang heavy in the air.  Draco scrambled through his recent memories.  Ron had patted his thigh, playfully, many times.  Had rested hands on both shoulders as he stood behind him, brainstorming in his office.  Had brought him little gifts from photo-shoots for designer labels.  Things that were suitable for Ron to wear in a photo but much too tight to appreciate in his everyday life.  Draco hadn't had enough friends, least of all male ones, to know in which actions he could find his hints.  But there was something else bothering him, at the moment.

"She just told you to 'find Draco Malfoy!' or something because she wants -me- at her wedding?"

Ron gulped.  He then tossed his head back and let out an ugly grunting sort of sigh.

"Okay," He started.  Neck stretched in a way that Draco found appetizing and eyes firmly shut.  "I don't know how to tell you this."

Patience his highest and newest virtue, Draco simply entertained himself by watching Ron's throat move as he stuttered his way into his explanation.

"What she really said was more along the lines of me being different, lately.  Happier.  She said I've been talking more about the future and stuff."

Draco genuinely smiled at him though he wasn't looking.

"Ron, that's brilliant!  I noticed you haven't been um..." he didn't know if it was appropriate to bring it up.

"Drinking," Ron finished for him, letting his head fall back into place and meeting Draco's eyes once more.  

"Drinking,"  Draco bit his bottom lip hoping he hadn't said something else uncomfortable.

"Yeah, if I have this glass of wine," Ron tapped the side of the sparkling concoction with his finger.  "It'll be the first thing I've had in weeks. Months, actually."

Risking being too forward, especially considering their conversation, Draco reached across the table and let his hand rest on top of Ron's. Ron let his arm relax into the touch and then turned his hand over so that their fingers intertwined. 

"So... Granger?"

"Hermione."

"Her..mi..o...ne..." Draco scowled at him as he forced himself to say the woman's name.  The name of the girl he'd admired deeply as a boy.  The girl that had the two friends he wanted most in the world.  The girl that had won the heart he'd come to cherish above all others.  ...and then broken it.

"She kind of just assumes I have a girlfriend and asked me to bring her," Ron blurted out.  Tired of beating around the bush and possibly braver because of Draco's warm touch.  They hadn't done that, again, since their first and only night together.  Held hands.

Draco was glad he hadn't taken any bites of food because the flip his stomach had just done would have made him ill.

"So, and correct me if I'm wrong, you're taking her your new boss.  Or is it new... neighbor?  ...friend...?" Draco asked. His voice rising in pitch with his mounting uncertainty.

"My date. Like I said. For the wedding.  Held hands," he gave Draco's hand a tiny squeeze as he nervously smiled.  "The whole quidditch pitch! ...you know, If you want."

"To make her jealous?" Draco's Slytherin mind couldn't process what was happening.

Ron laughed.

"Do you think someone with Viktor Krum on their arm is going to be jealous because of YOU!?" 

"Hey, I'm quite the catch!  If I wasn't a hermit, I'd be on all those Most Wanted Bachelor's lists or whatever they're called."

Ron's grip tightened as he smiled softly.  His voice came out quietly.  Like a confession.  "Well, lucky for me, I get to ask you on a date before that ever happens." 

Draco stared at him through the candlelight.  From the angle he sat at, the rose seemed to hug the line of Ron's jaw.  One of its many thorns perched just-so against Ron's smiling lips.  The blond closed his eyes and pulled out his wand.  He'd only just started carrying it, again.  Though it had been so long since he'd last used it.

Ron didn't flinch.  Fearing nothing as Draco pointed ten polished inches of fine hawthorn wood toward him. He watched as Draco closed his eyes in concentration. With a whisper from Draco, the color in Ron's wine bled out.  Fermented grapes and magic fizzling into the air like they'd never been there.  Leaving a few sips of water behind.

"Everything you want, Ron," Draco started, his silver eyes opening slowly as he let his body grow accustomed to the magic he'd just used.  His first spell in years.  "Even things you don't want to admit you need.  I'll be there for you."

"A yes?"

"As if I'd ever say no to you," Draco huffed.  If he were the sentimental type, he was sure he'd be crying.  He'd spent a year longing for just this very thing. With horror, he realized Ron's eyes were glittering behind his broad smile.  "Oh, Merlin!  Are you about to..."

"No!" Ron shouted, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his button-up shirt.  "I just... mom's gonna be so proud of me."

"Didn't Ginny beat you to the whole rich-husband, thing?" Draco asked, not sure how parents ranked sisters and brothers because he was always an automatic #1 by default.  Were Gryffindor parents even that petty?

"Hus--husband!?"

"What, marriage a little too gay for you?"

"You are never going to let me live down that fucking Craigslist ad, are you?"

Draco cackled in response.  Ron leaned forward, pulling Draco's hands to his lips.  His kissed the back of the hand he held, softly.  Always a tad clumsy with words, he only hoped Draco could see gratitude in his eyes.  Written in desperation, that Craigslist ad had well and truly ruined what little life he'd made since moving to New York City.  Ron felt he'd never stop being happy that it had.


End file.
